


If you were queer

by fellshish



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Characters Reading Fanfiction, Episode: s09e06 Heaven Can't Wait, Fanfiction, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Humor, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Sharing a Bed, Top Dean Winchester, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29375325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fellshish/pseuds/fellshish
Summary: Dean discovers there’s a lot of Dean x Castiel fanfiction. A LOT. Then, believe it or not, he makes the drive to meet Cas at the Gas-N-Sip. Oh look: it’s the fanfic gap in ‘Heaven Can’t Wait’.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 78
Kudos: 258





	1. So what should it matter to me

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired to finally write this trope because of [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29215650) johnlock story, actually. 
> 
> This story was 1000 percent improved by my beta you-cant-spell-subtext-without, my endless thanks goes out to her!
> 
> Title and chapter titles are from the Avenue Q song 'If you were gay'.

“Dean, you um… You know there’s a lot of fanfiction written about you, right?” Kevin asks on a quiet evening in the bunker. 

“Mmmmh. Yeah, uh, Sam Dean slash or whatever,” Dean says absentmindedly. He’s busy pouring himself another glass of whiskey. A visionary act he’ll soon be grateful for. 

He remembers discovering Becky’s fanpages for the Supernatural books a few years ago, though he tries not to ever think about it. Dude, they’re _brothers_. 

“N… No Dean. That’s no longer the main focus.”

Dean studies Kevin’s face. Where’s he going with this? Maybe he shouldn’t have let the young prophet have whiskey, he clearly can’t handle the hard stuff. Is Kevin… blushing?

“What do you mean, man?”

“Most of them…. They’re about you and - uh - C - Cast - Cas… having sex.”

“... with women?”

“With each other.” 

If Dean adjusts his seating at that point, that’s purely because he has been sitting in the same position for too long, damn it.

With _Cas_? Does he even have… anything, down there? Straight up barbie dolls, right, those angels? Junkless. Right?

Though he _is_ human now, Dean supposes. Experiencing life out there, in, well, who knows? All of its glory. Like with that reaper lady. Dean frowns at that memory. Come to think of it, Cas should probably not get his freak on at all anymore, just to be safe. 

Dean carefully schools his features. Don’t need Kevin to get the wrong idea or anything.

“Fans are into freaky shit, Kev.” 

“No, I know,” Kevin says, a pained expression on his face. “It’s just that, there’s a lot. _A lot_.”

Dean frowns. “You been reading about me, you little perv? Full frontal?”

Kevin’s eye widen. 

“N-”

“Didn’t know you toed that line, but you’re really not my type. Now, what’s your point” 

There’s gotta be some unwritten rule - ‘do not mention online porn stories starring your friends’. 

“It’s just…” Kevin swallows. Dean thanks the gods, the angels, the devil even, whatever, the whole damn universe that Sam’s asleep already. “It’s just that, I was wondering about the things those fans pick up from the Carver Edlund books.”

“What?”

“Subtext.”

“ _Subtext_?” 

Dean’s hand curls into a fist. What’s he talking about? Their life isn’t a college class, it’s just them sitting in a car and driving through America with zero homoerotic activity. They save people, they hunt things. It ain’t that deep.

“Those stories don’t just appear out of nowhere, Dean.”

“Dude, half of them are about me and Sam!”

“Oh no, Dean. You haven’t checked it in a while, right?”

Dean swallows. 

Swallows lots and lots of whiskey. 

“I’d say 90 percent is dest-,” Kevin says, quickly correcting himself: “Erhm - I mean, you and Castiel.”

Dean lets that sink in. But only about an inch deep, he isn’t letting _anything_ sink in further. 

“I’m just saying,” Kevin presses on. “Maybe there is some truth to it?”

 _What_? Dean chokes on the whiskey. 

“No! Me and Cas never-”

Kevin squints at him. “That’s how those stories usually start, Dean. Denial.”

That’s it. Dean stands up abruptly, the chair’s legs scrape against the floor. He points an angry finger at Kevin. 

“Well, _this_ is not a story, okay? This is my actual _life_. I’m not-”

Dean frowns and stares into the distance. How’s he gonna explain this? Can’t a man and an angel just be friends? He doesn’t swing that way.

“It’s like shellfish, isn’t it?”, he blurts out. 

“What? Dean-“

Dean groans. Why did he take this route? 

“I mean, nothing wrong with... It’s just about taste. I like oysters.” Dean fumbles with his fingers. “…. Not… cockles.”

Kevin blinks up at him in confusion, and it’s taking Dean all he has to keep from effectively strangling him - they still need him for the tablet - so he walks out the door, straight to his room.

Very straight. Extremely straight.

Dean’s still fuming as he puts his pajamas on, brushes his teeth and crawls into bed. The one where he’s recently added another bedside table, on the other side. You know, for symmetry. 

After about half an hour of inwardly cursing in the dark, he reaches over to the extra table to retrieve his cell phone. It’s _his_ life. He should check out at least what those philistines are writing about him. 

He googles: _Dean Castiel fanfiction_. 

Holy shit.

There’s an images section with what looks like… obscene drawings he’s not even going to click on. Nope. Staying the fuck away from that, and actually, he should sue Google for even subjecting him to that ungodly sight. 

He clicks on the top link, a collection of Castiel / Dean works on a website called Archive of our Own. Of whom? Whose throat can he go rip out? 

Isn’t his body, you know, his own? No one else’s, that’s for sure. 

Dean swallows. What the - there’s _774 pages_ of this crap? 

He thumbs through the results. There’s all sorts of weirdness. Oh, one where Cas makes him a hot chocolate? Sounds sweet - damn, wait, what? _Food kink_? The list goes on. Praise kink? Dry humping? Frottage?

What- motherfucking _wing kink_?!

Dean rubs his eyes, wishing he could stab them out. He turns his phone off and throws it back on the bedside table.

A minute later, he reaches for it again. Okay, he’s down the rabbit hole already. No use chickening out now, right? Step one in a case - figure out what you’re hunting. He may as well dig into the ‘lore’. 

He clicks on a random story. Nothing in particular drew him to it, really. It’s just a coincidence that it’s about Dean masturbating in the shower and accidentally summoning Cas by calling out his name like in a prayer.   
  


That... that couldn’t actually happen, right?

A blush creeps up Dean’s cheeks as he reads those horrible, horrible words about him, his body and um, Cas’ body. And lips. Definitely lips too. 

He thinks about Cas’ lips. The writer sure gets a few things wrong there, actually. Suddenly his own mouth feels dry.

Dean clears his throat and finds another story. Just to get a complete picture here. He’s gotta know what these crazies are writing. This is all in the name of _research_. 

If he feels a little hot, that’s just because he’s under a thick blanket. And you know, if something is stirring underneath the sheets, that’s just, um, a normal reaction to reading sex words. It’s just like watching porn and looking at the guy too, because he’s just in the shot, you know? Can’t help but see him. 

And if he puts his phone away finally at 4 in the morning, and decides on a quick wank, it’s just because it’ll be harder to sleep otherwise. He’s not thinking about Cas. In fact, he’s thinking about that reaper, she was kinda hot, wasn’t she? And Cas just happens to be in the shot.

\---

The next few evenings, Dean keeps going back to this weird archive site. He’s going to google soon where he can burn its servers like he’s putting a ghost to rest. Cause damn, those stories are haunting.

He soon figures out how to filter for content. That way he can get rid of the, umm, threesomes with Sam some of those horny bastards like to write about. He ain’t gotta see that, he’s been to _hell_ , damn it. 

This is all for research purposes of course, he reminds himself. In a ‘know your enemy’ kind of way. And damn it if some of those writers don’t write a pretty convincing Cas. Those are the weirdest to read. It’s like… Like getting undressed for real. 

Some of the stories don’t even take place in this universe. Those are just plain unnerving. Cas wouldn’t open a coffeeshop. Would Dean start a tattoo parlor though? Maybe. It’d be pretty cool. 

For some reason, his libido has perked up, too. Not that he’s getting any. But he starts getting horny in the weirdest moments now. He’s jizzing more than fake-him does in an average ao3 fic. In the shower. Late at night in bed. Middle of the night in bed. In the morning - well, you get the picture. 

Dean only knows one thing for certain: it ain’t got nothing to do with the stories. 

\---

It’s just that he doesn’t feel like doing any other research, like helping Kevin and Sam with the elomite deciphering of those doodles from the tablet. Sounds like a lot of work. That’s why when Cas calls him about a potential case with the four mysterious murders in Idaho, he decides to drive up. Just to check it out. To avoid, you know. Reading stuff that - he, uh, he doesn’t like reading. And not at all because he keeps thinking about that stuff and… uh, Cas. Who shouldn’t have hung up on him like that, dammit. 

When he greets Cas in the Gas-N-Sip with a sweet smile and a joke, it’s just because he hopes his buddy has forgiven him for sending him away, that’s all. And when the Gas-N-Sip manager reminds Cas that they have a date - _what the fuck?_ \- Dean doesn’t for one second think about how the fans are so wrong, because the real Cas is actually not gay at all, and he doesn’t feel any twinge of disappointment in his stomach. And when he drives Cas to his date’s house and says, _I can’t let you do this_ , he is definitely not thinking about the things fictional Cas and Dean have done in this Impala. A lot of. Impaling. 

When it turns out Cas just had to babysit, that’s definitely not a relief. Really sad for him. Dean feels sad for his friend, his buddy, as they walk to the car after they smite Ephraim. That’s all he feels. Right. 

“Where to, Cas?” Dean asks with a quick smile. 

A tired look crosses Cas’ face, and he just gets in the Impala quietly. Odd. 

Dean slips behind the wheel. Cas is staring into space, still wearing that white shirt he wore to work, but looking a lot more broken in nocturnal shadows than in the daylight. 

Dean does feel bad for throwing him out of the bunker. He shakes off the guilt - it’s to save Sam, and one day, Cas will surely understand, he’ll explain and it will all be okay again. It’s not like he dumped the guy or something. They do have that profound bond, after all, as the fics keep pointing out between sessions of pounding. Dammit - why did he think about all of that? 

“Cas?”

Cas looks down, his hands resting in his lap. 

“I… you can drop me off at the Gas-N-Sip, Dean.”

“What?”

Cas doesn’t answer, and simply stares out the window, into the darkness of the night. Dean blinks at him. His neck sure does look nice and slim in that shirt. Maybe it _was_ suitable for a date. But he is glad he got him to unbutton it a little.

Dean shrugs and starts the car. They drive in absolute silence. It isn’t until they’re nearly there, that the truth dawns on Dean. It’s nighttime, but Cas is going back to the Gas-N-Sip.

“Are you sleeping at work?”

“I’m very much awake during work hours. I am a professional, Dean.”

But Dean already noticed the little flinch Cas made after he asked.

He abruptly turns the car. Cas’ neck snaps toward him in surprise.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re sleeping with me.” Dean clears his throat. _Son of a bitch_. He should stop talking like a damn fanfic Dean. “Um, I mean - I’m staying in a motel room, you’re slee… coming with me.”

Not _coming_.

“Dean, I have an apartment, it’s just near the Gas-N…”

“I’m not _asking_ , Cas.”

Cas’ jaw snaps shut, and he swallows heavily before he turns back to the window, suddenly again very interested in the drab darkened suburbia outside. 

\----

  
  


Oh shit, Dean realises as he enters the motel room. 

There is only one bed.

The fic writers would have a goddamn field day!

Dean shakes his head to clear it. Okay, this is their actual life and neither of them is gay or even like… remotely interested in the other, so this is a normal adult sleepover situation. He can totally act like a normal adult, Dean thinks as he watches Cas hesitantly sit down on the bed.

It breaks Dean’s heart a little to see him this way. Not in a sexual way or anything. Just, he looks so goddamn lost and vulnerable. He looks like he needs to be held. Not by Dean, of course. But Cas deserves to be held, that’s all. 

And that murderous battle angel _was_ drawn to Cas because he felt so miserable, wasn’t he? Dean’s face crumples slightly thinking about it. 

“So, um, not a date, then?” Dean asks.

“What?”

Cas looks up at him. Dean exhales. His eyes really _are_ blue as the sky after a rainstorm, as plenty of fics have pointed out. _Dammit_ he has to stop thinking about that stupid website. 

“Your boss. Not a date.”

Dean watches as Cas flinches for a fraction of a second. Way to go, Dean, sticking a whole finger in that wound. He just made things worse, as usual. 

“No, Dean. It wasn’t.”

Dean walks over to his duffel bag and digs around for his toothbrush. It’s in there somewhere! Shit, does he have a spare one for Cas? He’s pretty sure he does. 

“Nora invited me over,” Cas recounts, voice monotone. “She said it was hard to find decent men as a single mother.”

“So that’s weird that she asked you to babysit, huh?” Dean says, locating the extra toothbrush and pulling it out triumphantly. “Ha!”

Cas looks at him intensely. “Dean, she thought I was a homosexual.”

Dean freezes.

Not her too? Does the whole friggin’ world think they’re a bunch of fruits? Two rabbits eager to exchange carrots? 

He coughs. “Right, I found you a toothbrush. Bathroom’s over there.”

Cas stares at the plastic wrapped pink toothbrush for a few seconds before accepting it. The bathroom door slams shut. 

Dean drags his knuckles across his brow. Whew! Awkwardness narrowly avoided.

He takes a deep, slightly shuddering breath. This is just two friends sharing a motel bed. Nothing weird at all. 

Dean thinks about all the bedsharing fics he’s read. About fictional Dean waking up with fictional Cas all tangled up around his body. How that Cas would nuzzle his nose in that Dean’s neck and it would make all of his hairs stand up and how he’d feel like home, feel strangely safe. And then feel something poking in his back. And then-

He’s jerked out of his thoughts abruptly by the sound of the bathroom door opening. It’s Cas, wearing nothing but black briefs. _Tight_ black briefs. His shirt and trousers are folded over his arm, and he walks over to the little desk in the corner of the room to drape his clothes over the chair.

Holy shit. 

Dean’s eyes definitely do not roam over that body, not for one second, before he physically _launches_ himself into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He brushes for about 8 minutes or so, because well, you know, he’s just very thorough and hygienic. Doesn’t want any cavities. Hunters have shitty dental coverage. 

When he returns to the room, wearing underwear and a t-shirt - thank you very much - Cas is back sitting in the same spot on the bed. Cas hesitantly looks up, eyes not in any way dragging over Dean’s body as he would in a fanfic, Dean thinks. 

“Choose a side,” Cas says, tipping his head to indicate he’s talking about the bed. 

“Huh,” Dean thinks about his bed in the bunker. Cas is currently sitting in the exact spot that would be his, if they were, you know. Sleeping together. “You’re good, Cas.”

Cas hesitates. “I can sleep on the floor.”

“No! No, uh, Cas. That’s not necessary.” 

Dean smiles reassuringly while he turns on the bedside lamps. When he turns off the main lamp, he can’t help but notice how it changes the way the shadows fall on Cas’ naked chest. The former angel’s definitely not as ripped as some writers would have him believe. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t handsome or anything, Dean doesn’t like it when men are too muscled anyway. Cas is kind of perfect, actually. _Son of a bitch_. 

His eyes do _not_ wander down. 

Cas covers his legs and briefs with the blanket and leans his body against the headboard. He doesn’t seem sleepy, despite looking exhausted. 

Maybe he needs a bit of cheering up? Dean puts a hand on his shoulder. Oops. Bad idea. Very naked. He retreats the hand quickly, his fingers feeling hot somehow.

“Don’t worry, Cas, about her thinking you’re gay,” he says. “I mean, um - I know you’re not.”

Isn’t he? Maybe out of all those stories, Cas’s sexuality is the one thing those fans actually got right? 

No, no. Can’t be. Cas did have sex with that female reaper. This is information those fans don’t know about. 

Cas just looks at him silently, his face unreadable and dark. 

Dean laughs nervously. It’s none of his business anyway. And aren’t angels genderless? Can they even _be_ gay? 

Maybe this is the perfect segue to bring up all that fanfiction. Cas should know about this, after all, it’s his body too that’s being described in wonderf… disgusting prose. 

“It’s just that, you know, those Supernatural books?”

“Yes,” Cas says, tilting his head. 

“Well, the fans who read them think you’re definitely gay.” 

Dean huffs a short laugh. See, it’s funny, isn’t it Cas? See? See?

Cas appears to have stopped breathing.

“For me, that is.” Dean exhales. “Crazy right?”

His voice definitely doesn’t sound higher or anything. His heart isn’t hammering twice as fast, either.

“What do you mean?” Cas asks, averting his eyes. 

“I mean, those folks write some weird stories about us. On the internet. I thought you should know, since it’s, well, about us.” Oh god, suddenly there’s a smile on Dean’s face and a finger gun as well. Dean cringes at himself. “Banging.”

“What?” Cas looks up.

“Screwing around. Doing the naughty. The rumpy pumpy. Intercourse, Cas.”

Cas looks horrified. Well, so is Dean, of course. 

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” he tells a literal messenger of god. “It’s okay, I know you’re not gay. You were just on a heterosexual date, almost. And you did the… hanky panky with that reaper.”

Cas is again not breathing. 

Christ, why can’t he stop talking? “And I guess, before, when you were an angel, well, you didn’t swing any kind of way, right? Just doll parts down there? No junk?”

Schrödinger’s crotch.

This seems to elicit a response. Cas blinks out of his daze, turning those eyes on him. So blue. “I can assure you, Dean, I’ve always had functioning… junk. A lot of angels in fact like to… Well.”

Well what? Dean’s sweating. But only because it’s hot in this room. They should lower the A/C. Where’s the A/C. 

“Oh, really, angels have sex?”

“You _know_ about nephilims, Dean. So yes, they have sex. Though mainly with each other.”

Oh, so… So Cas is some kind of _angel slut_?

Dean swallows.

He shouldn’t ask any weird questions that indicate he’s read any kind of fic. Just be normal. Just be normal. 

“So are angel wings an erotic zone or something?”

Shit. Shit. 

Cas’ eyes grow wide. “What? Dean-”

“Oh, sorry, it’s just something I was wondering. No reason. I’ve just got a… curious mind.”

Dean shakes his head in disbelief at himself. Why did he have to fucking word vomit like that? Those fans have _ruined_ him. 

Cas blinks hard and then turns his head away, frowning. 

“I don’t have wings anymore, Dean.”

“I know, I-“

“And it’s late.”

It’s literally 9:28.

“I should sleep,” Cas concludes.

Cas turns off his lamp, and lets himself sink deep into the sheets. He turns his back on Dean, lying completely still.

Dean stares at the curve of Cas’s back for a moment, then sighs, and flicks off his own bedside lamp. He’s nowhere near tired. Why couldn’t he just have had a normal conversation? Maybe asked Cas to watch a movie or something? 

Did he fuck up their whole dynamic by reading too much destiel porn?

Then, a message lights up his phone.

It’s Kevin.

He’s sent him a link on ao3. What the- 

Dean clicks on it. It loads unbearably slowly. Why would Kevin send him a damn fic, hasn’t he done enough damage? The familiar font appears. 

_If you were queer_ , Dean reads. By fellshish. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Dean. The words of the prophets are written on ao3.


	2. What you do in bed with guys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wake up guys, new prophecy dropped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please God. Smite me instead.

It’s three long rings before Kevin picks up.

“Kevin!” Dean hisses. 

He’s crammed against the far wall of the motel bathroom. Cas is still in bed. Dean’s knuckles are white from gripping his cellphone so hard. 

“Did you - did you write and post a slash fic about me and Cas?” Dean stammers out.

“Errr… It’s not a fic, it’s a prophecy.”

It takes three long breaths to even process that. Dean is _furious_. 

“My sex life is not a prophecy!”

“To be fair it’s mainly solo action. A whole lot of solo action actually.” Dean can practically hear Kevin’s smirk in his voice. 

“You shut your piehole.” Dean finds himself pointing at his phone. “And stop this, now.”

“I wish I-”

“And you better not write that planned chapter two!”

“Dean, I can’t help it, it’s the Word of God, and I’m a prophet.”

Dean briefly pushes his eyes closed. He’s shaking with anger. “I am not a _character_ for you to write about, Kevin!”

“I know, but…” Kevin hesitates. “You’ve read it?”

“Yes I’ve read it, assbutt!”

There’s a small pause. 

“Did you notice how ridiculous you sound?”

Oh, he’s pushing it now! 

“I don’t know _what_ you’re implying. I am not gay for Cas!!” Dean yells and throws his phone against the wall, not caring if it shatters into pieces at this point. 

Dean takes a few deep breaths before he rolls his shoulders and opens the door. Uh oh. Cas is sitting straight up in bed. The streak of light from the bathroom illuminates the dark look on Cas’ face. He’s glaring.

“The walls are really thin, Dean,” Cas says, voice strained. 

Dean feels something sink in his stomach. Shit. How much did Cas overhear? The last thing he wants is for Cas to find that dreadful piece of fanfic, that whole bunch’a made up lies. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Uh, Cas, I’m sorry you had to hear… Yeah. What did you hear exactly?”

Cas stares at him intently.

“That you’re not _gay for me_ ,” he imitates.

Dean exhales. None of the fanfic prophecy stuff then. Good. That thing was written totally out of character anyway!

He prefers to see himself painted much more… Heroically. He’s saved the world enough times, damn it. He’s damn well earned it.

And anyway, he hasn’t been reading _that_ much fanfiction. And not all explicit stuff, either!

Dean clears his throat. “I… uh, Cas… I… I’m just not gay. Nothing to do with _you_ as a person.”

He shoots him a half smile as if to say: if I _were_ gay, it’d be you, mate. 

You know, a bro smile. 

Cas seems unimpressed. “Why are you so obsessed with sexuality, Dean? I am utterly indifferent to it.”

Dean can’t exactly pinpoint why that feels like a blow to his ribs. He blinks down at the floor to recover. When he looks up, Cas has slid back under the sheets, his body once more turned away from Dean. 

Right. Dean turns off the bathroom light, and lies down next to Cas, flat on his back. He stares at the ceiling, its popcorn texture slowly revealing itself as his eyes adjust to the darkness. There’s some light still trickling in, through the cracks of the door leading to the parking lot. There must be a pretty strong street light there. 

Next to him, Cas is silent in the loudest way. 

Guess Cas is angry, then. So what? What about it? Why should Dean care? They’re just friends, and this is a minor disagreement. Shit, is Kevin reading his mind right now? Dean tries to think about sheep in a meadow. The animals are eating glass, uh, grass. Nothing interesting to see. He thinks about Sam. About flowers. About the damn bees Cas likes so much. No, no, no reminders of Cas. Okay, he thinks about the bunker. Actually, you know what’s bonkers? A fic can’t ever be the Word of God. That’s insane! Especially that fellshish fic, filled with weird thoughts about homosexuality. 

Oh no. Those bible freaks were right. God is a homophobe. 

Suddenly, Cas rolls around, turning towards Dean.

“Dean.”

Dean looks to the side and tries to gauge whatever is going on in Cas’s head. It’s near impossible. Those eyes are deep wells, their usual piercing blue hidden in the darkness of the motel room. Dean is - he is drowning in them. 

“Yes?”

If only there was a fic containing the angel’s thoughts. 

“How do you know you’re not gay or… or bi?”

“What?” Dean swallows.

But Cas doesn’t repeat the question. The fallen angel’s just lying there, fully alert and awake next to him. Unlike Dean, who could totally fall asleep if he wanted to. 

Dean thinks about it for a second.

“Well, for one, I have read a ton of slash fanfiction and that’s how I know I’m not into it.”

See? At least the M/M fic made Dean extremely secure in his sexuality. 

Cas doesn’t move a muscle. Until, almost imperceptibly, Dean hears an exhale. He tries to make out Cas’ shape. Cas draws in another breath, and Dean can’t help but marvel at him, this timeless being that’s breathed in the very first molecules of air, and would have probably breathed in the very last, if he hadn’t become human. 

Human is very much what he looks like now. Fragile. 

Some days, Dean wishes he could clone himself, so he could guard Sam and Cas at the same time. To give Cas all of himself instead of also having to worry about anyone else.

“What do we do, Dean?” Cas suddenly asks quietly. “In the little stories.”

If Dean feels his heart jump up to his throat, that’s just because he’s getting older, and his body sometimes does… things. After eating cheeseburgers. It’s just that over-thirty inconvenience of having a body, that’s all. What did Bobby call it? Acid reflux. 

Dean turns to face Cas. He - he’s faced larger foes. Dean swallows heavily. 

“Sometimes we… _they_ … share a bed,” he admits. Prob’ly better not to mention any of that bondage stuff or anything. And he’s definitely not ready to talk A/B/O.

“Oh.”

How do you talk to your angel best friend about the fictional online porn you’ve been reading about the two of you? 

“What do we do?”, Cas asks. “When we... when the characters are bedsharing.”

Dean has about three heart attacks in a row. 

Why must the Lord test him like this? Oh right, yes. The homophobia. 

The words seem stuck in his throat. How to even explain? How can he push himself to even say the words? Just thinking about it makes Dean feel like he’s about to fall off the edge of something, something big. 

What an unfair question though. Right? What does Cas _think_ they do, damn it? Does he have to spell it out?

“They cuddle, man! It’s super gay!”

After a long pause, Cas speaks up, in that low and determined voice he uses when Dean is being intentionally disobedient. 

“Dean, cuddling is not gay.”

If there was ever a moment in Dean’s life that felt like he was in a documentary staring into the camera like a whole dumbass? This was it.

It takes a whole thirty-nine seconds to reboot his brain. But when it has, he hears Cas speak what should be unspeakable words.

“In fact, if you want to try some of this fanfic lore, we can.” There is a small pause in which Dean probably suffers a small stroke. “Cuddle.”

Dean does not think either of them is breathing now. Though Cas has spoken in a neutral, flat tone, his form betrays him - even in the shadows - it’s very tense. 

No, he doesn’t want Cas to feel bad. His evening’s been bad enough already. Almost getting killed? Being mistakenly thought of as gay? Dean can’t imagine what that must feel like!

Cas deserves a cuddle. So Dean scoots a little closer, until their hands almost touch on their adjacent pillows. He can’t physically bring himself to look up. Instead, he keeps his eyes fixed on Cas’ chest, his very nice, actually - umm, okay, so maybe best not to focus on that chest? The mattress, then. He brings his glance there. Ok, yes. Safe. 

“Oh - uh. Okay,” Dean breathes out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding that long.

Good thing Cas feels indifferent about sexuality, otherwhise he might think this was gay!

Dean gains some courage and looks up quickly, before he can change his mind. Cas’ face is still completely unreadable but somehow brighter, containing darkness and light at the same time, and yes, Dean thinks, yes, he really is an endless, breathtaking creature. Those fanfic goons wrote that part of him absolutely right. 

“Shall we spoon?” He asks the creature. 

Obviously Dean would still have to be the “man” and be the big spoon.

“Turn over,” Cas says. 

Dean immediately turns to face the wall. Like he’s on autopilot or something. 

Frozen still, he waits, staring into the relative fuzzy shadows playing over the motel room wall. He hasn’t felt this lost since he was in hell. It lasts a minute. It lasts a lifetime. There’s no way of knowing. Then, Cas slowly moves closer, until his naked - oh God, oh God, Dean forgot it was naked - torso presses up against Dean’s t-shirt clad back. Cas’ legs effortlessly bow into his. It’s unexpectedly warm, it’s… It’s strange how well they fit. Almost divine. 

Cas wraps his arm around Dean and spreads his fingers on Dean’s chest, over his heart. It’s pumping like a car engine on a hot summer’s day. Dean’s afraid to move his hand up, too. That would be too much anyway, of course. Holding hands. Just… no. 

Interesting, though. He’s never been the little spoon before. Why hasn’t he? Because _holy shit_. That radiating warmth wrapped around your back? This is what it must be like to have wings. 

Dean’s always believed he didn’t need protecting like this. Now he’s not so sure.

Cas’ warm breath steadies against the hairs on the back of his neck, and Dean begins to level out with it. Like a slow dance they breathe together, falling into each other’s rhythm. And if Dean shifts his bum a few times, that’s just because it’s not healthy to stay in the same position all the time, your leg can fall asleep, it’s much smarter to move around. So what if he accidentally sticks his back out against Cas. It’s only a little.

They stay like this for a while. It’s Cas who breaks the silence.

“Is there anything else you want to try, Dean?” Cas asks, and it’s really not fair to hear that voice _that_ low in his ear, and oh God, it goes straight from Dean’s ear to his, um, crotch. 

Dean thinks long and hard. 

Obviously he can’t ask for a kiss, because that would be too intimate.

“F- frottage.”

It’s just what pops into his mind, because why not, it’s such a popular tag, right? He’s been beat to death with it. He even clicked on it once just to see how many fics contained frottage. And then sorted them by kudos. 

Cas’ hand twitches on Dean’s heart. 

“If you know what that is, I mean.”

He can’t see it but Dean is pretty sure Cas is rolling his eyes so hard the occupants of the room next door are aware. 

“Yes, Dean. I am familiar with the activity.”

Dean bites the inside of his lip. 

“Only if you’re up for it, Cas,” Dean says.

“I am, Dean. Up for it.”

Dean exhales unsteadily. Are his ears hot? Or is it just Cas’ breath that keeps blowing softly against them, like, almost erotically? And - and worse: the heat being caused by the feel of Cas’ chin nestled in his neck. Something twists tightly in Dean’s lower abdomen. 

Suddenly, Cas shifts a bit. A tiny adjustment, but with big - rather big, yes indeed - consequences. Because now, Cas’ briefs are in direct contact with Dean’s, and…

It’s quickly apparent that Cas, um, is. Up for it. Literally. 

Dean’s sucks in his breath. For the first time, he _feels_. 

Cas shifts again, tight black briefs rubbing against his butt, and _jesus_ , yes, Cas is definitely hard. Dean can feel it - Cas - bumping against him, as Cas moves his hips agonizingly slowly. He’s _rutting_ against him in slow motion. His dick slides against Dean’s ass, and finally, it awkwardly slips between his cheeks. Still cloth over cloth though. Nothing too queer! In case God is watching. 

Dean’s dick is. A rocket. Aiming for the sky. To think Cas is the one who’s causing _that_... 

Just like in a fanfic.

This can’t be his life.

Never once did he imagine he’d be lying in some motel bed in bumfuck nowhere with an angel’s shotgun cocked against him.

Bumfuck nowhere is definitely the wrong word choice.

Dean pants and lifts both hands to Cas’ hand on his chest. He needs an anchorpoint. Or perhaps more like a life preserver.

Cas grips him tighter. 

“Cas-” No, that doesn’t seem right here. “Castiel.” He speaks it like a prayer into the darkness. 

Cas buries his head into Dean’s neck, lips almost touching his shoulder, but not quite. The angel grinds hard upwards now, letting himself awkwardly slip once more along Dean, not quite but almost in between his-

 _Hhhhhhhhhhhgggggggghgnnnnn,_ Dean purrs.

He can’t be making noises like this, damn it. So Dean turns around. Oh god, oh no, now he’s looking right at Cas. 

Cas quickly retreats, pulling back his arms. The angel’s expression is shadowed. Dean blinks, letting his eyes adjust to this side of the room again. The streetlamp’s light somehow finds a way around Cas’s sharp cheekbones like it’s carving them, like it’s excavating a cherished relic from an archeological site. 

Archeological sounds about right. His dick has been leaking steadily for what must be 300 years now. 

God, he’s hard.

“You okay, man?”, he asks hoarsely.

“Yes,” Cas says, but his now illuminated face looks nervous. 

Dean has a thought. “Lie on your back,” he orders the angel. 

In some fics, you know, fake Dean, not to be confused with the real Dean, likes to order fake Cas around. And Cas loves it. (Sometimes it’s the other way around. He’s definitely bookmarked exactly zero of those.)

The actual, real fallen soldier of heaven shifts next to him and rolls on his back on his command, waiting. It warms Dean’s heart to see how much Cas trusts him. 

Carefully, Dean gets on his knees. He touches Cas’ legs, guiding them apart for him to fall into, in between. 

They’re really doing this.

He gathers all his courage and lowers himself onto Cas’ body until his elbows are on either side of him, and their dicks - ohhhh god. Their dicks are actually _touching_ now, and for a second Dean is afraid he’s going to come in his boxers. 

He stills, and glances down. Cas is looking up at him, in that peculiar way of his, like he’s studying him. 

Dean stares into Cas’ eyes a normal amount of time. 

Then, he rolls his hips upwards. Cas moans, _oh god_ , Cas _moans_. Dean pushes upward again, their dicks straining against fabric, against each other, seeking the friction. He exhales a shaky breath, and moves one hand to the back of Cas’ head, to steady himself. Maybe to steady them both. 

Cas in turn wraps his arms around his back.

 _Hmpf_ , Dean chokes out. 

He finds some sort of rhythm now, pushing into Cas with long and slow thrusts. He angles his hips so that with each move, the waistband of his boxers slides down further, shifting around his groin. Slowly, the tip of his dick tents the cotton, ducks, then peeks out, glistening above the fabric. 

Oh god oh god oh god.

The entire tip of Dean’s dick is now fully exposed. And then, as he thrusts back up, he - oh, finally, finally - softly bumps himself into Cas’ stomach, slippery with precum. Cas lets out a feral moan. The angel pulls Dean down, grinding his hips with urgency and desperation. 

“Dean,” Cas begs, chasing that soft feel of skin against skin.

Dean looks down, and picks up his speed.

“ _Dean_.” 

Dean closes his eyes, mouth hanging open. He’s just grinding and grinding like a dog in heat, his underwear sliding off more and more. He’s almost completely exposed now. Sure, his underwear’s restraining him but also, it’s so fucking hot. Fuck. Fuck.

“Fuck,” Dean says. 

He’s gonna regret this worse than the night he clicked on a link in the author’s notes and it took him to - what was that horrible site called - right, Tumblr. 

That thought slows him down slightly, and he opens his eyes again. 

Cas is just - so Cas, you know? Effortlessly beautiful. Dean shifts his weight to his left side, so he can use his right hand to _touch_ because he wants to, and he can, he can touch Cas’ arms, neck, chest. There’s so much to feel, to explore. It’s like there’s an electric current under his finger tips, the very root of life itself. Even now Cas is, while so human, still so graceful, still so full of celestial fire. 

Dean licks a strip along Cas’ nipple. 

_Mhmmngh_ , Cas breathes.

Cas moves one hand up to the back of Dean’s neck, past the fabric of his t-shirt. Touching skin, rubbing it in circles like an unspoken yes, yes, more. A small jolt of pleasure runs through Dean’s entire body. Encouraged, electrified, Dean envelopes Cas’ entire nipple in his mouth, and slowly moves his tongue upward, then down again. This has a most delightful result. Underneath him, Cas is writhing. Good. Sensitive nipples, then. Dean can work with that.

Dean pulls back. Cas is arched with his eyes closed. An ungodly sight. Dean moves on to the other nipple and traces its edges with his tongue. Cas’ hips push upward, seeking friction, seeking Dean. 

Cas starts carding his fingers through Dean’s hair, and Dean can’t tear his eyes away from the angel. Holy fuck. How are they going to look each other in the eye again without remembering this? Be normal friends? Dean brushes the thought away like a stray hair. Worry ‘bout that later. 

Cas opens his eyes. 

“Dean,” a low voice emerges beneath him. “I think you should fuck me.”

He says it so matter-of-fact that Dean is momentarily stunned. 

“If that’s what you want, Cas,” Dean hears himself reply before his terrified brain can stop it.

Maybe his brain isn’t exactly the body part that’s replying. 

“It is.”

After momentarily leaving this plane of existence, Dean moves down Cas’ body, hovering over Cas’ underwear. He rubs his cheek against the soft cotton - barely - restraining Cas’ hard dick. Cas rewards him with another moan. Cas’ dick _twitches_ up against his face.

This does nothing for Dean, of course. Totally not about to shoot off like an amateur.

Dean sits up, and hell, since he’s already half out anyway - fighting against the evil restraints of fabric and gravity - he quickly wriggles out of his underwear. No barriers except for the t-shirt, which he can’t remove, of course. He’d feel too exposed. 

Dean quickly steps out of the bed. Yeah, no one should think anything of it, but, um, he’s pretty sure he packed lube.

It’s just smart to carry with you, as a straight dude. It’s a great masturbation aid. If there’s anything useful he got out of ao3, and there isn’t, but if there is - it’s the importance of lube. 

When he turns back around, lube in hand, the blanket has been pushed on the ground and in the middle of the mattress is Cas. The angel has positioned himself on his belly, briefs still on, and is waiting for him quietly. His arms are wrapped around a pillow. 

A small strip of light falls onto his back. Dean inhales but he doesn’t think there’s enough air left in the room to process the sight. Cas is stunning. 

Dean steps forward.

“You’re…” He touches Cas’ lower back. “You’re really gorgeous, Cas.”

Just to test out if Cas has a praise kink like many fans seem to think. No other reason.

“Dean. You don’t have to-”

“No,” Dean interrupts him, moving onto the mattress. He kneels between Cas’ legs and slides his hand slowly up the angel’s back. “You’re stunning. You’re beautiful. Has anybody ever told you that?”

That ain’t gay, though. It’s just a fact. And Dean has no issues saying it. No toxic masculinity in sight. He can admire beautiful things. And Cas is exquisite. 

Dean bets that reaper never even told him how handsome he was. His heart breaks a little at that thought. 

A small sound escapes Cas’ throat. Dean hopes at least _someone_ in his long life has ever told him that. _Anyone_. And then he is caught between that hope and the desperate desire to be the first, and the only person to tell Cas these things, over and over again. 

He slowly moves his hand higher until he reaches Cas’ shoulder blades. Stopping at the spot he thinks Cas’ wings must have been. 

At no point Cas has trembled harder than now. Oh no. Does Cas feel tense? Dean kneads his fingers, making circling motions on Cas’s back, soothing him. 

“I got you,” he whispers, and he hears Cas quietly exhale, his shoulders relaxing.

Dean lowers his lips to Cas’ back and presses them between his shoulder blades. Then he trails kisses down Cas’ spine, until he reaches his underwear. Face suddenly heating, he carefully loops a finger around the waistband and gently tugs down Cas’ briefs. And then, holy shit, the angel’s fully naked underneath him, waiting. 

Dean exhales shakily, twisting his eyes shut for a second. He can do this. He can do this. He’s read about this so many times, he’s basically an expert now. Ok, ok, he’s got this, c’mon.

Enough pep talk. Let’s talk prep. He coats his fingers in lube and uses his other hand to spread Cas further. When his fingertip touches Cas’ rim, Cas jolts forward.

Dean freezes. “You okay, Cas?”

“Yes,” Cas says. He pushes his ass backwards again, to Dean’s fingers.

Dean’s dick responds with a longing twitch. 

He traces Cas’s edges, pink and puckered, making sure it’s enough lube, before he hesitantly pushes one finger in, one digit deep. Dean breathes heavily. Or was that Cas breathing? He can’t tell anymore. It’s so hot. Man, has he conditioned himself to find this hot, with all his nighttime (and okay, daytime) reading? Or is it. Just hot. 

His dick agrees.

Cas is just so warm. He pushes deeper in. Cas whimpers and pushes back.

Dean spreads Cas further and suddenly his whole finger is inside, and Cas makes another, more urgent, desperate whine. Oh, Dean needs to hear _that_ again, so he moves back and forth, picking up speed.

Cas remains mostly quiet, except for the occasional hum or whimper that seems to come from so incredibly deep within. 

That must mean he’s enjoying it, right? 

If Dean’s honest with himself, which he of course always is, then damn it, he is enjoying it just as much. He adds another finger, feeling Cas stretch. Dean bites his lip - he imagines his dick breaching that tight hole soon. 

Maybe it’s only really gay if there’s feelings involved. Like in all those stories about them, there’s often _so_ many emotions mixed up. Sometimes Dean gets carried away in them because they’re so well written, well, that’s the power of good writers isn’t it? He starts almost believing it, until he has to remind himself, those stories are fiction and very unlike Cas, who’s a former celestial being and therefore entirely above and apart from human emotion.

Cas fucking _purrs_ around his finger. 

“Cas, you are so fucking tight, man,” Dean says, precum leaking on the mattress. 

He forces himself to take his sweet time stretching Cas, adding more lube. Cas is downright writhing and whimpering, holy fuck, it’s like his body is just asking for Dean, but he knows that it’s not time just yet. Hell, it takes some of those freaky fic writers ten whole paragraphs to just do the stretching part. 

Dean’s dick twitches just remembering those.

Then for the first time, Cas speaks. 

“Dean, just… just do it already.”

Dean’s throat goes bone dry.

Cas squirms.

“ _Please_.”

Dean’s bottom lip drops. 

But well, who is Dean to argue with _that_? He slowly removes his fingers, feeling almost dizzy with want as Cas whines with the sudden loss of fullness. Dean needs to stop himself from plunging straight in there and fucking into Cas like some kind of animal.

He pours lube on his dick and lines it up to Cas’ hole. Ok, ok, ok, go slow. Slow. He rubs himself up and down that soft skin, not quite inside but close.

“You feel amazing,” he tells Cas. 

Cas moans. 

Yes, ok, yes, Cas definitely has a praise kink.

More and more, his dick gets caught a little in Cas’ rim, almost, just barely, slipping almost in - then out. How will he cope? This is, fuck, fuck - then finally, his tip slips completely inside. 

Cas moans again, and Dean has never heard a better sound in his entire damn life.

God, Dean needs to stop moving and take three deep breaths or he’s gonna explode. It feels so warm and good. Fuck, ok, ok fuck. Slow. 

He calms himself down. Then, he pushes slowly forward, listening carefully for any sounds from Cas. Cas stays quiet, except for occasional hitched little breaths. Dean pulls back a bit, then with one final push he’s fully sheathed. Inside Cas. 

Oh god. The stories were right. Cas is gay! He’s gay, right? Oh god, Cas is gay.

Dean has to stop again, otherwise he’d seriously already blow his load. 

He leans forward, and places a kiss on Cas’ neck as he pulls back and then pushes slowly forward, feeling Cas stretch around his dick, and it feels so good and so right and so -

Dean leans his forehead on Cas’ back, trembling. 

“Please,” Cas begs. “Just _fuck_ me. Dean, Dean.”

Dean’s name in Cas’s mouth like that may be the dirtiest word he’s ever heard. 

That’s when Dean loses it. He grips Cas’ shoulders to keep himself steady. If the angel wants it hard, who is he to say no? He thrusts into Cas roughly, picking up speed, losing almost all sense of time and space. 

Cas holds onto his pillow and takes it, god, he takes it _so good_. Dean is mindlessly pounding into him now. He thrusts harder just to hear him moan, just to hear that fucked up so good whimper come out of that divine throat. 

He fucks into Cas like a hammer. Fuck. Fuckkk. He moves his right hand into Cas’ hair, then to the front of Cas’ head, along his cheeks, like a blind man finding his way home. He grazes Cas’ lips, and almost as a reflex Cas opens his mouth.

He takes one of Dean’s fingers inside his mouth and swirls his tongue, sucking.

That’s what knocks Dean over the edge. He can’t stop it anymore, and he’s falling, he’s plummetting, fast and hard, and he spills inside Cas, quavering, losing balance, losing everything. 

Dean rides the aftershocks, cheek pressed against Cas’ shoulder blade, panting into his skin. 

Oh God, now what. Unnerved, he plants a quick kiss on Cas’ back, carefully pulls himself out and rolls over to his side of the bed, squeezing his eyes shut as the reality of it all sinks in. 

As he’s lying there flat on his back, chasing his own breathing, he can’t shut out the barrage of thoughts, the onslaught of feelings any longer. What was that? What _was_ that? 

Soon, Cas turns and latches onto him in an awkward hug - awkward not because they just had sex, oh no, but because Dean’s head is pressed against Cas’ still naked chest. Cas’ arms wrap around him and hold on tight. And somewhere above his navel, Dean feels a pressing urgency. 

It’s Cas’ dick, leaking into his t-shirt.

Oh.

Cas hasn’t come yet. 

That needs to be rectified. Dean’s made all of his former girlfriends come each time, he’s not about to break that streak. That would be homophobic!

“Cas,” Dean whispers against his chest, but Cas doesn’t reply - he just wraps himself tighter around Dean. 

There’s something about that that tugs Dean’s heart, but he’s not letting himself think about that too long. There are more, um, pressing matters.

He lets his hand travel slowly down Cas’ spine and then sneaks it around to his front, searching for Cas’ dick pressed between their bodies. He finally reaches it, and just a brush of his fingertips against Cas sends a shiver through his entire body. Dean exhales shakily. It’s the first time he’s touched another man’s dick. Ok, ok. This is fine. He’s fine.

“Dean - you don’t have t-”

Dean wraps his fingers around the base and slowly pulls up.

 _Hnnngghhghghg_ , Cas finishes his sentence. 

Dean presses his lips against Cas’ chest and picks up speed, it’s nothing fancy, just quick and dirty, but Dean knows how to do this part at least. God knows he’s practiced enough on himself. (God knows? God no.)

He gives his other hand permission to explore the bump of Cas’ ass, rubbing up and down along its delicious curve, squeezing it. When he reaches lower and ghosts a finger over Cas’ asshole, like a reminder, that’s when Cas finally comes, shaking against him in quiet puffs, fists tightening in Dean’s t-shirt. 

They remain like this for a while - Dean panting into Cas’ chest, Cas clutching onto his back like he’s going to fall off a cliff now and Dean is the only thing tethering him to higher ground. Until eventually, with a small sigh, Cas pulls back and moves to his side of the bed again, looking up at the ceiling. 

Dean removes his sticky t-shirt and throws it on the floor. Then, he glances to Cas. He isn’t already asleep, is he? Dean pulls the blanket back on the bed and covers them both. Cas quietly blinks up at him, letting himself be tucked in. 

When Dean’s back on his side of the bed, he feels something should be said, you know? To break the silence. 

He wonders what Cas is feeling right now. Is this just another Tuesday for an angel? Did he used to have a lot of angel sex? It doesn’t matter, Cas is human now. Does angel sex feel different than human sex? Did it feel good? Did Dean make him feel good? 

There're so many questions pressing against the inside of his skull, like they’re banging on the doors of hell. Dean tries so, so hard to keep it sealed. 

“Why don’t you care about sexuality, Cas?” The question spills over his lips. His voice sounds much smaller than he’d like. 

But it’s just, you know, because he’s curious about Cas being gay, what that must be like. 

When Cas replies, he sounds disappointed. “Dean. Your body is just a vessel. You are so much bigger on the inside. There is so much more to define yourself with there.”

Dean swallows hard. The silence stretches and stretches until he falls asleep. 

\---

The next morning, Dean realises fics are a whole ass lie. He doesn’t wake up all tangled up in Cas’ limbs. Cas is not breathing softly on him while his erection pokes against Dean’s leg. Dean is not lost in the maze of Cas, they’re not inseparable like a pair of damn phone charger wires. None of that sappy crap. Cas is on his own side of the bed and Dean wakes up with drool clinging to the corner of his mouth. 

Great.

Just great.

Cas is still asleep - he must still be getting used to that human habit. Should Dean move closer, and pretend to have fallen asleep attached to him? Dean hesitates. Nah. That would, er, be a little too intimate. He doesn’t want Cas to feel uncomfortable just because they fucked last night, and hugged, and oh god when Cas was arching his back in pleasure he- 

Dean slips out of bed to the bathroom. He needs to splash some water in his face, damn it. Calm himself down before he embarrasses himself. Maybe reading all that fic has messed him up in the head after all. He shouldn’t be getting any ideas, because those are fiction, and this is real. Real Cas doesn’t need an unhinged friend like this, who’s constantly imagining a whole bunch of sex positions. Sex positions involving the two of them.

Positioned on the sink is his wristwatch. He checks the time. Shit - it’s half-past nine? Cas is gonna be late for work!

He rushes back to the bedroom, and flips on the light.

“Cas, you gotta leave! You gotta g-”

Dean stutters to a halt. His eyes land on Cas, who’s leaning on his elbows blinking up at him, and _god_. He looks so stricken. 

It hits Dean like a brick to the face. Cas, who’s been newly human and wandering the earth so vulnerable for the very first time in eons, Cas, who wouldn’t ask for a thing but almost died when he was alone, twice now, Cas who sacrificed everything for his friends only to be pushed away, plainly dumped. Dean sees it now. Cas stared death in the face and then immediately got abandoned by his friends - the only humans he thought who had his back. The people he sacrificed everything for. 

It’s written all over his face: hurt. But something else too. Something far more devastating.

Resignation. 

Cas _will_ leave, if Dean asks him to. 

“Cas,” Dean says quietly. “Oh no. Cas.”

He takes a few steps toward him, goddamn it, they’re both still naked as hell, and Cas’ eyes widen. Cas almost flinches away but Dean cups his hands softly around Cas’ face and leans down, how else can he express how much Cas is loved by them - okay, fine, by _him_? He kisses him. Soft. Slow. 

A tiny whimper escapes Cas throat, and Cas lifts his hands to Dean’s neck, more skin exposed this time, more to touch, to rub. His fingers feel warm, his lips, damn it, his lips -

\---

Back in the bunker, Kevin is looking for sharp objects to gouge his eyes out.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reception to this fic has been a light in my life. Thank you guys so much for reading. I hope this second chapter was ehm, satisfactory.


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